


Bang! Bang! My Baby Shot Me Down

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Arrested Development
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-17
Updated: 2007-12-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 07:34:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1639190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crossover. Maeby Funke and "Stephen Colbert" meet at a summer Bear-Hunting Camp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bang! Bang! My Baby Shot Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to passionflows for beta-ing and hand-holding and just being generally wonderful.
> 
> Written for pyreneeees

 

 

So it all starts with Gengi and the bearskin rug. Maeby had always kind of hated it. The remaining giant teeth stuck out at weird angles and it was always slicing into her ankles. On one particularly memorable occasion it happened to catch a vein and as her blood started seeping out (at a pretty alarming rate) her family had spent a few minutes on some self-indulgent chaos; Buster had a brief panic attack, her Dad had become convinced she was going to lose the leg and George Michael rounded it all off by promptly fainting at the sight the blood and being swiftly transported to hospital. Maeby drove.

This time the rug's primary crime was that it had slain the only remaining bottle of vodka in Lindsay Bluth's possession on a Friday night.

In retrospect, it never really stood a chance.

Caught in the middle of a particularly vehement flounce, Lindsay stumbled forward and knocked the bottle off the coffee table. The vodka, the half empty jug of tomato juice and the ice all went flying in the direction of Maeby's mother and the soon-to-be-objectionable rug.

It was really pretty funny (for everyone but Lindsay.)

Outraged by the loss of her drink, the nick on her shin and the stain on her skirt, she took a stand: by snatching up her purse, sailing out of Gengi's apartment and declaring that until Lucille ceased her "implicit support of the senseless and brutal slaughter of nature's creatures purely to maintain her own social position and for the undeniable aesthetic appeal" she would never again set foot in her mother's home.

The brief awkward silence was shattered by a triumphant cry of "Come on!" from the next room as GOB (who had instantly sprung into action, dragging the offensive rug from underneath his gesticulating sister's feet, and was currently on his knees in the bathroom attempting to squeeze the remains of the vodka into the tub) convinced Buster to reluctantly surrender a few juice boxes to what was now destined to become a very large bowl of punch.

So Maeby signed up for a summer Bear-Hunting adventure camp.

It actually turned out to be one of the Bluth's better parties.

-

Fifteen years as the youngest Bluth (that they know about) has taught Maeby nothing if not how to pack loudly. She can swing a suitcase shut with a glorious gong-like thud and she can maintain a running commentary on her progress for forty-five minutes straight without needing a glass of water. She can stretch out a weekend's worth of packing into a marathon of sorting and piling and colour-coding and folding.

"So that's me all packed up. Ready to go off to Bear Hunting Camp. Where I will learn to hunt and kill bears. For a whole month. Of non-stop bear-killing.

"Better not forget my boots. I'll need them what with all the bear slaughter that I'll most likely be doing."

George Michael takes pity and offers to take her bags out to the stair car. Her mother bumps into them on the stairs.

"Have a great time honey!"

-

So she sits on the train and waits for them to notice that she's gone.

-

Maeby's a little late and she stumbles slightly as she enters the large `meeting room'. It's basically the most bizarre collection of people she's ever seen in her life and she has been in attendance at more than one of her father's support groups so she is keenly familiar with the bizarre.

Two sixty year old identical twins, dressed in matching pant-suits, sit at the front nodding emphatically as a tall guy with very impressive hair waves his arms frantically and has what appears to be an argument with one of the camp officials.

"Stephen! Please sit down. I'll happily answer any questions you might have when I'm finished." The camp supervisor is using the exact same tone that Uncle Michael uses when he's trying to get GOB to climb down from the roof of the yacht and help him with something. Maeby sinks into her seat and lets the yelling and the homesickness wash over her. The long suffering speaker is now shouting over the tall `Stephen' at the front.

"Here at Shaftsbury Farm, we aim to provide the very best in recreational Bear Hunting facilities -"

Apparently unable to restrain himself once more, Stephen lurches back on his feet - "I didn't come here for a farm! A farm is just a ranch without _balls_!" The room slips easily back into chaos.

And the man in the seat next to Maeby is genuinely wearing eight different variations of plaid.

"This is my most stupid rebellion ever," she mutters into her hands.

-

They have assigned seats at the `Get to Know Your Fellow Hunters Brunch', and Maeby is horrified, but not surprised, to find herself placed next to the very same Stephen she'd witnessed terrorising the staff earlier that day.

The camp official, Serena, notices her look and draws her to the side discreetly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder

"I understand that this can be a little daunting for you at first. We can attract quite a few," she looks fervently over her shoulder and drops her voice to a whisper, "unusual people to these conventions, but I think it's important to remember, that we all are united by a common interest."

Maeby frowns and says slowly, "Shooting bears?"

Serena's slightly unhinged expression splits into a smile. "Exactly! I want you to sit down at that table next to that nice, eccentric gentleman and remember that everyone else in this room is here, just like you, because of how much they love to shoot at bears. Isn't that something?

"We're not here to judge each other, we're not here to fight, we're just here to enjoy one another's company and also to shoot some bears. Now why don't you have a think about that while you make your way to your seat?"

Maeby thinks about that as she backs slowly towards the table.

-

It turns out that there's cheese fondue so however this all ends Maeby comforts herself that the day won't be a total wash.

She spends the first half of the meal trying to avoid crazy Stephen guy noticing her, which isn't that hard, as it turns out, because he's too busy giving loud suggestions and instructions to the rest of the table at large.

Three virgin pina coladas in, however, and while she's pretty sure that they were stronger the last time, she does start to get a little sloppy. Stephen clearly slips swiftly into intoxication, either that or he's completely loosing his shit, because he's started gesturing wildly in the air and barking instructions top of his voice to a seemingly invisible man he calls `Jimmy'.

"Let's try that one more time Jimmy!"

In a particularly violent swivel to the side ("Movin' on") his eyes fall on Maeby who's too busy feeling unnerved to avoid his eye.

"Who are you?" His glasses have slid down his nose a little and so the (piercing, maybe?) stare is a little off.

After a few clear minutes of staring straight ahead and pretending she's both deaf and blind just like George Michael always taught her, Maeby accepts her fate and turns to face Stephen (who has remained motionless the entire period; eyebrow raised quizzically, forehead wrinkled), offering her hand.

"Maeby Funke."

"Mae-by!" he repeats slowly. Which is always a bad sign, in her experience. "Wishy-washy un-American name, missy, and you won't catch me saying it again. I'm going to call you ... Definitely." He gives her hand a firm shake ("Stephen T Colbert") and follows it with a swooping motion forward in his chair, attempting to unbutton his jacket in the process. The whole thing would have succeeded in being almost impressive had he not initially misjudged the position of the button, instead swiping at midair, leading to a very undignified swerve.

Composure regained, he straightens up.  
"Anderson Cooper taught me that."

-

_Dear Maeby,_

Hope you are well. We are all well here - things have been pretty much the same without you. Not that you aren't a crucial member of the family unit. You are a crucial member of the family unit. I just mean health-wise that everybody is okay. Not emotionally, I think that emotionally your absence has made a profound difference. To everybody. Not just me. Aunt Lindsay, well, she said some wonderful things. At least that's what my Dad told me. If she hasn't written to you yet then I'm guessing that it's because the wonderful things are too wonderful to get down on paper. It might cheapen them.

I hope that there are no postal problems and that this letter reaches you. Sometimes there can be postal problems, I hear. I don't send that many letters though, so it's hard for me to say for sure.

Have you killed a lot of bears yet?

 ~~Love,~~ Cordially,  
George-Michael Bluth.

~~xxx~~

-

This is fast turning into one of those things where Maeby finds it hard to remember exactly why she's doing what she's doing. All she knows is that when she wakes up at 6AM in the cabin that she's been assigned to share with the two creepily identical old ladies that she met on the first morning, she really does have a strong desire to shoot at things.

The backdrop at the shooting range bears a very, very strong resemblance to the packaging of her mom's Teamocil bottle and Maeby is just starting to freak out when she notices the small print on the side of her practice rifle. _`This bear-hunting event was brought to you by Teamocil Inc.'_ (The side effects in an even smaller print). She walks, slightly homesick now, over to where the rest of the group is gathered. On the way she passes their two instructors for the day, deep in conversation over polishing the barrels of their guns.

"It saved my marriage, I swear -"

-

"These first two days are really just going to get us all into the swing of things," shouts _Hi I'm Christy and I'll be your Firearms Supervisor for the day!_

"Those of you who haven't handled a gun before can learn how, and those of you who have can get back in practice and improve your form. This process is designed to get you into the _mindset_ of a hunter so that next week when we get you out into that forest you can kill as many bears as possible! That sound good?"

The cheering rings in Maeby's ears.

It sounds kind of creepy.

-

She's next to Stephen again and Maeby's not worried anymore because the clinically insane are her lot in life and if she's honest she feels most comfortable with them anyway.

The jumping up and down on the spot is getting kind of annoying though.

"Bang! Bang!" he cries gleefully pointing at the guns. Christy the Firearms Supervisor frowns, looking increasingly concerned.

"Stephen, the mere fact that you're calling it that makes me wonder if you're mature enough to handle this."

The curtains across the range from them are raised and Maeby looks up and down the row of grown men and women now shooting wildly at stuffed animals on stilts. She takes aim and fires at a particularly fluffy looking teddy bear.

Bang, Bang.

It's pretty weird.

-

_Hey,_

Lindsay mentioned that you were at hockey camp in Vegas and I wondered if you could do me a quick favour while you're up there -

Everyone knows that the real powerhouse of the Alliance is centralised in Vegas and that if you can get in with that branch then the more rigid, insensitive, uncreative bunch of morons who run the California office would have no choice but to reinstate me as a registered magician. If you happened to be in the area and you had some spare time to picket the building, maybe go on a hunger strike, really make it clear how strongly you feel about your uncle's right to perform his illusions with guild approval, then that would be great.

I even didn't know girls played hockey.

GOB

(Over her shoulder) "Is your letter soaked in _lighter fluid_?"

-

Their first week out in "the field" is a failure of epic proportions. It turns out that bloodthirsty Bear-Killers get kind of cranky if there aren't any bears about to shoot at and Maeby gets a bit tired of throwing herself to the ground in terror at the daily shouts of - "Something moving! Over there!" - She really doesn't want to get shot this month.

And there's far too much time to think. About what the hell she's doing here, about what they're all doing without her, about how on earth she is going to manage another hour of tuning out Stephen's incessant rambling about his last hunting trip with his Building Manager Tad (which appears to have mainly consisted of the two of them doing each other's hair).

Stephen doesn't make a good blond. And Maeby thinks of her Mom -

"Me either."

-

Stephen slides into the booth next to her and compulsively snatches all the baby carrots off her plate.

"You bummed we didn't catch any Grizzlies out there today Definitely? Because Mother Nature is a wild and mysterious lady so don't let it get you down - I feel like tomorrow is going to be our day. I can see the carnage now."

At this point, Maeby finds herself disturbingly accustomed to the bear-slaughter shop talk and so she is able to answer without pause for disgust or comment.  
"I guess I'm just a little homesick tonight."

"Listen to me Definitely." He curls his fingers towards her and leans in. "I'm playing it fast and loose with the wisdom tonight so let me tell you what I do when I feel homesick: I never am. That's right - America is my home and I am always in America. Even when I'm not in America, because America is in _me_. Do you follow?"

Maeby widens her eyes and smiles like Uncle Michael.

"I guess what I'm saying is if you were a real patriot, you wouldn't feel homesick. So, something to think about? From God's lips to my ears, to your ears from my lips, and then maybe to the ears of that guy over there. Or the lips. Those are some _nice_ lips."

Stephen's attention is diverted and Maeby miserably follows his gaze.  
Great. Now she misses her Dad.

-

 _From the desk of Dr T Funke_  
 ~~Analrapist~~  
Actor and Musician  
(Part-time Performance Artist)

Dear Maeby,

Your journey of discovery has encouraged me to turn inwards also and I have come to realise that the Man Inside of Me is not only an Actor, but a Musician too. An Artist should never allow themselves to become pigeonholed, Maeby, and narrowly pursuing Acting without nurturing my other talents was short-sighted and foolish of me. I can see now that is broadening of my horizons was what you intended when you left last week. Thank you for opening my eyes.

Enclosed is the rough cut of my newest track which I `laid down' over the weekend, a loving cover of the country classic "Mamas Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys." Inspired by your newest hobby! I really think your mother's howls of affection in the background add a new depth to the sound.

Love,  
T. Funke (your father)

-

She feels like George Michael's silence is trying telling her something and even she's not that great at ignoring him: _you could have called._ It's been two and a half weeks and she hasn't phoned home.

So, clearly it takes that certain special something to only hear what you want to hear. Maeby is sometimes on the edge of understanding that her entire family is burdened with a very specific kind of selective deafness.

She lets it ring twice and then thinks; _let them call me._

-

Apparently she's been holding her rifle wrong this whole time. The way Christy the Firearms Supervisor is taking it, you'd think Maeby had left the cap off her bottle of whisky.

"I don't know how they play it in The _Oh Cee_ little missy, but here at Farm Shaftsbury we do things just a bit differently."

Maeby re-arranges the gun and misses her mother.

"Don't call it that."

-

She doesn't know how she'd be if she'd ever been part of a family that noticed whether people were anywhere or not, but Maeby lies in bed on the third Thursday having blown off today's outing ("It's time to get serious. Guerilla tactics guys. To hunt the bear, you have to _be_ the bear.") and thinks that she's too strongly like this to have been able to be any other way.

She writes a postcard to George Michael, and a letter to the Magician's Alliance office in Las Vegas using some stationary that she stole ages ago from the studio.

But she forgets to send them. And maybe it doesn't mean anything at all.

-

"I think I`m going home tomorrow." Why does she keep talking to this guy?

"Don't give up faith Definitely!" Stephen grips her arm. "We're _so_ close."

"I like this one," Maeby says, holding up a particularly gnarled specimen to the light, "and, no, we're not close". They're in the Farm Gift Shop (According to Stephen, if this were a ranch it would be a Gift Emporium, which is supposedly superior in various non-specific ways).

He's actually in the middle of a long and vague rant on the subject when he suddenly raises his head, sniffing cautiously at the air. Which would possibly have been disturbing if Maeby hadn't lived through the act several times before.

She sighs. "Have you caught the `scent of the hunt' again?"

And his only response is a firm clap on the shoulder and a brief salute before he darts out the door towards the sunset and the lunatics in camouflage.

She takes the Bear Tooth necklace over to the counter and hands it to Christy the Firearms Supervisor (today Christy the Sales Assistant).

"Would you like this gift-wrapped?" asks Christy, sickeningly cheerful as always.

Maeby nods. "It's for my Mom."

"Is she very into Bear-Trophy Ornamental Jewellery, then?"

Maeby feels a smile creeping onto her face.

"Yes. Very."

-

END

 

 

 


End file.
